


Hate Me

by Batsutousai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Prostitution, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-27
Updated: 2006-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom realised he must leave. For Harry's sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hate Me

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by magickmaker17.
> 
>  **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
>  The song, 'Hate Me,' is by Blue October. I don't claim it.

'Hey there, Tom. Just calling to check in on you. Make sure you're comfortable in your new flat. You didn't sound so good on the phone last night, you know? Well, let me know if there's anything wrong. You know I'm always here for you.'

The dying beep of the answering machine was loud in the dark room. I stared at it blankly. Harry spent too much time worrying about me and not enough time with his wife. Maybe I should just disappear for a while? Give him his chance to live? Give me a chance...

No! Don't think about Harry, you fool. He's not worth the heartache. He's not worth the pain and the punishment that will follow the thoughts of him. I need to let him live for himself now. Let him and Ginny make little saviours together. Don't think about him in bed, laying with you...

I can't stop thinking of him. Some things never change.

> _I have to block out thoughts of you, so I don't lose my head.  
>  They crawl in like a cockroach, leaving babies in my bed.  
>  Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone.  
>  Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home._

I let out a sigh of relief when it was his answering machine that picked up. 'Harry, hey. Just returning the call. Sorry I missed you, I was out with some new friends. Group of chaps from just down the street. They're nothing like the Death Eaters – much cleaner. Don't worry about me so much – Ginny might think you've got something– uhm...Ha! Listen to me, blabbin' on like a fool! Well, I'm going out with the chaps, so don't bother calling back. Maybe I'll catch you when I call again!'

I hung up the phone, feeling ill. I'd lied – there were no 'chaps'. I wonder if he'd catch that in my voice; he was far too good at catching my little lies. And that slip-up with the crush thing?

Smooth, Tom. _Real_ smooth.

_Fucking hell, even my inner voice sounds like him now. Maybe I _should_ get out. Find some friends. Some people who don't know me as Voldemort – as the terror of their world who's just a powerless sap now, dependent on the Boy Who Lived. No, the Boy Who Demolished._

Demolished my world.

> _There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain  
>  And some peace is all I want for you, will you, never call again.  
>  And will you never say that you love me just to put it in my face.  
>  And will you never try to reach me, it is I that won't escape._

I walked through the city streets, feeling broken. I had to get out of here. I mean, it's not like I was a danger to anyone any more – unless I got an urge to pick up knife-throwing. And, really, what good was knife-throwing to a seventy-six-year-old man – even if I move, look, and feel like I'm in my early twenties?

According to Dumbledore – the old coot – the spell Harry used to seal my magic, also sent my body back to about the same age that Harry was. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm over fifty years his senior. My traitorous brain has paedophile stamped all over it.

I kicked at the ground, then turned back for home. Maybe some sleep would help.

> _Hate me today. Hate me tomorrow.  
>  Hate me for all the things, I didn't do, for you.  
>  Hate me in ways... yeah, ways hard to swallow.  
>  Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you._

_We stood before each other, ignoring the war that screamed around us, deafening in its pain and hatred. The impossible staring contest ended with Harry's voice: quiet, yet loud enough in the raging fury around us that I heard him as clear as if we'd been standing next to one another in the middle of a hallway in Hogwarts during the summer._

_'It ends here, Voldemort. There will be no more raids, no more terror and murder from you. From here on out, you'll scare no innocents.'_

_'So brave, little saviour. When all is said and done, I believe you'll be the one face-down in the muck, eyes as lifeless as the broken man who fell from that tower just behind you.'_

_His lips twisted with a hatred-filled smile – it wasn't the sort of thing one expected to appear on the child-turned-saviour's face. But it was there, nonetheless._

_'Even though Professor Dumbledore's body is gone, his spirit lives on in all of us that fight you, Voldemort,' Harry replied, certain._

_'So sure...' I murmured, only to myself. But his smile widened._

_'Your time is at an end, Voldemort,' he said again. 'May Tom Riddle start anew in the soil and lands of those he once hunted and killed. Magic be bound!'_

_His words registered where the pain did not. Magic be bound? So this was the route they chose after they could find no more of my Horcruxes. I'd been so careful in my hiding – perhaps too careful. Was eternity worth it without my magic?_

_Harry's face – the one that often awaited me during those four years after the war that I spent recovering from 'culture shock', as the Mudblood had called it – swam into sight as the battlefield and the pain faded out. And I clung to him, my lifeline in the world that hated me. My own saviour, who would kill me if one toe went out of line, yet saved me from those who would hunt me without cause. The one who kept me safe in the flat that he might have shared with his fiancée, had I not been there._

_Four years of waking to him. Of trusting him with my every fear, my every vice._

_Of knowing he wasn't mine to have._

> _I'm sober now for three whole months.  
>  It's one accomplishment that you helped me with.  
>  The one thing that always tore us apart  
>  Is the one thing that I won't touch again.  
>  In my sick way I want to thank you,  
>  For holding my head up late at night.  
>  While I was busy waging wars on myself,  
>  You were trying to stop the fight._   
> 

I woke to street lights and the sounds of the night-life out my window. I made myself a cup of tea, then sat to think. To think of the times Harry and I would sit at his flat – his and Ginny's, now – and talk of the ideals I'd once held to be law. My thoughts on purebloods and half-bloods and mudbloods. And he always listened with an attentive ear, commenting positively when he agreed with something I said, and staying silent when it was something with which he didn't.

Except for calling them mudbloods – he yelled at me for that the first time. I never used that word in front of him again. Nearly bit my tongue off more than once.

And when things got bad, when one of his friends said something of me that was cruel and left me hating myself, or we passed someone who knew my face and didn't forgive as easily as Harry did, he set them straight. He'd get in their faces and tell them to back off. Or to apologize, if he knew them well enough.

And after, once we'd got away from anyone who might overhear - he knew I wanted to seem strong in the face of those who'd sooner see me on my knees – he'd ask me if I was okay. When my answers weren't good enough for him, he'd set _me_ straight. He'd change the subject right away and make me list all my good points, which got to be more and more each day – he added to them for me when I couldn't think of any more.

I stood, shaking thoughts of him away. I needed to get out. The night-life was calling to me, it's sweet song twisting through my ears like a cry of freedom from he who I ran both away from and towards.

I left the flat, the ringing phone silent behind the screen of jingling keys and catcalls from below.

> _You never doubted my warped opinions  
>  On things like suicidal hate.  
>  You made me compliment myself  
>  When it was way too hard to take.  
>  So I'll drive so fucking far away  
>  That I never cross your mind.  
>  And do whatever it takes in your heart  
>  To leave me behind._

Too feminine. Too masculine. If I was going to pay for the service of the whores of London, they'd best look just right.

Hair too light. Eyes just too blue. Skin just too pale. I was looking for my Harry among the beggars and the whores.

I knew I'd never find him down here, but it helped to hope, hope that I could find at least _someone_ with eyes close enough to the colour of death and hair just black enough to have been spun from Thanatos' own robe. I needed a body that was too female to rightfully belong to a male, but wasn’t _too_ female.

Perhaps Harry was too special to find the like among the whores.

Then I saw him. Just the right size. Just the right body type. His hair was maybe a little too light and the eyes a little too dark, but he was enough. He couldn't be Harry, that wasn't allowed. He would be enough.

I stepped up to him, ignoring the other whores around us. 'You for sale?'

'I am, sir. Whatever sir pleases. A quick one in the alley, a stand at home. Even a bed warmer for many a chilled night.'

I smirked. His voice was a little too rough, but it was good enough. 'A bath first, I think,' I commented out loud, then turned and left the alley, crooking a finger over my shoulder for him to follow.

After a bath, he was a better look than most and rivalled with my Harry. And he was polite, which was an added bonus. 'You'll sleep here for the night,' I told him. 'If I like you enough, you might find a place here. We'll see.'

His answering smile was all Harry.

In my haste to get him to bed, I knocked the answering machine to the ground, careless of the bang. If it had broken, I'd just buy a new one in the morning, after all.

> _Hate me today. Hate me tomorrow.  
>  Hate me for all the things, I didn't do, for you.  
>  Hate me in ways... yeah, ways hard to swallow.  
>  Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you._

I decided to keep him. He was good in bed and sweet on me. I found no quarrel with him, even after a week.

The answering machine _had_ broken, but I didn't bother to get it fixed. Only Harry would care to call, and it was him I was trying to avoid.

The boy – that's how I think of him, if only to remind me that he's too young for me by far and – Merlin! – what might _Harry_ think, were he to know? – goes by the name of Harold, I found from his fellows one evening while he slept. It seemed I had found the best of the lot, while looking to find someone to take my mind from Harry. Not that it worked, quite. But Harold was better than wallowing in the self-pity I had spent the past few months in. At least, now, if Harry were to call, he wouldn't get a shuddering mess.

But, wait, I didn't want to talk to Harry. I'd even gone so far as to tell Harold that if that number called – bless caller id – that he was to let it ring until the caller hung up. When he asked why, I told him it was my ex, who was the jealous sort. That I was half afraid that, were he to find where I lived and who was staying with me, I'd lose both.

Harold won't touch the phone, no matter _who_ calls. If it's one of his friends, I have to answer, then hand it over to him. He really is a sweet little one.

I wonder, sometimes, what Harry must think of the endless ringing.

> _And with a sad heart I say, 'Bye,' to you and wave.  
>  Kicking shadows on the street  
>  For every mistake that I had made._

Harold looked guilty when I got home from the job I'd gotten at a nearby bookshop. I gave him a suspicious look and handed over the bag from the grocery. Told him to make dinner. He scampered from the room as if he was glad to be gone.

I glanced around the room as I put up my coat, wondering what had him so skittish. The last time he'd done this, he'd accidentally broken one of my lamps. When he finally came clean I had just rolled my eyes and said I'd buy a new one the next day. And I had. All without loosing my temper.

Harry would be so proud.

But this incident bothered me. Harold knew, now, how I reacted to broken objects. I'd even sat him down after the incident with the lamp and told him that nothing in this flat had any value to me, so if he broke something again he should just let me know. I could care less about all the things Harry made me pick out a month before his wedding to Ginny. I knew his heart wasn't in it then.

So why, then, did Harold scamper away? Had he broken something he thought actually had value? I checked the computer Harry's Mudblood had forced upon me – it was fine. I checked the hidden picture frame with the only picture I had kept of Harry, which was locked up in the drawer of my nightstand that stood next to my bed – it was just as I had left it, whole and undisturbed. I checked the box upon the mantle that had my wand in it, the one thing that I'd told Harold to never touch – it was obviously undisturbed, if the dust had any say.

What had Harold done that spooked him so?

I waited until we were seated for dinner before confronting it. 'Well? Why are you so skittish all of a sudden? Did you break something?'

Harold's eyes widened and he shook his head, eyes desperate. 'Nothing happened, Master Tom!' he said, using the name he'd picked up from somewhere and refused to drop, no matter how much I objected. If Harry heard someone calling me such a name...

I shook the thought from my head and frowned thoughtfully at my only companion. What could be so bad that he dared not even admit to it? Had he slept with another? That might bother some, but to me it was a moot point – I'd bought him off the street and that's where he belonged, no matter how long he stayed here.

There came a knock on the door and I glanced at Harold, who had gone bleach-white. 'Nothing?' I questioned him as I stood, wondering if I even wanted to know. It was rare for anyone to come to call on us, even rarer after the normal shops had closed for the night and Harold's friends were about their rounds.

I walked over to the door and popped it open, then felt _myself_ go bleach white.

'Chaps from down the street, Tom?' Harry Potter asked, eyes sparkling with green fire.

I swallowed with difficulty. 'Hello, Harry. Funny you should drop by,' I tried, knowing it didn't matter.

Harry's eyes narrowed. 'Let me in. You don't want me yelling in the hallway, do you?'

I let him in, sending Harold a look that had him scurrying into the bedroom and locking the door behind him. I sighed and turned to face Harry alone, Merlin help me.

Harry turned once he'd thrown up Silencing Wards around the room we were in. He did not look happy and I found myself wondering, briefly, if this was what I wanted when I went searching for a whore.

' _Master_ Tom, is it now?' he started, nearly hissing. I almost thought he was talking in Parseltongue, until my addled brain caught up with me and reminded me that I couldn't understand snake language with my magic blocked.

'I've told him not to call me that, but he won't listen,' I tried, half pleading. Please, if he's going to kill me, let it be because of something I did, not something that happened outside my hands.

'Have you? It seems like your style, Tom. And I thought I'd cleaned Voldemort out of you.'

'Harry, you _know_ I'd never ask to be a master to _any_ –'

'And yet you keep a whore in your home.'

I flinched.

He glared, green flames blazing.

'I swear on my wand that I never told him to call me "master". Believe me that, even if you'll believe nothing else,' I whispered at last, falling to my knees on the floor before him. 'If you must think the worst of me, think it for the deeds I've done, not those that others have done for me.' I stared at the floor, pretending I didn't see his dragonhide boots step closer. Pretending I didn't feel better just _feeling_ him near me again.

His fingers touched my hair and I didn't dare to move. 'I will grant you not asking him to call you "master", Tom,' he said after what felt like an eternity had passed. 'But I will grant you nothing else. You've bought a whore and are keeping him in your home. Why?'

'I was lonely,' I whispered, only half lying.

'You could not come to me?' he continued, voice as gentle as his hands in my hair. I found myself trying not to lean against him.

I bit my lip and refused to answer. How could I come to him?

'Does this, perhaps, have something to do with your little pet looking like me?' His grip suddenly tightened and I couldn't help but whimper.

When I was silent for too long, he shook me by my hair briefly, then let go. 'Get up.' I did so, refusing to look him in the eyes. 'Let your pet out. Tell him to go find somewhere else to stay for a while.'

'But–'

'Tom, if you do not listen to me, there will be trouble,' Harry warned.

I chanced a glance at him and saw sorrow and anger warring in flaming eyes. Why sorrow?

I went to the bedroom while Harry removed the spells. 'Harold?'

Harold sat curled in a corner, shaking. 'Please don't blame me, Master Tom! I'm sorry I answered the phone! I tried to do as you said, but it was just so loud and so annoying and I'd been trying to sleep so hard–!'

'Harold...' I heard myself sigh and leaned against the door frame, feeling worn. 'I'm not mad at you. I don't blame you. However, Harry's making me kick you out. Get your stuff.'

'Yes, Master Tom,' Harold replied.

I scowled at him. 'For the last time, don't call me that.'

Harold shot me an impish grin, which froze at something behind me. I turned and stiffened when I saw Harry behind me, giving Harold a strange look.

'Tom didn't tell you to call him "master"?' Harry asked as Harold hurried to pack his things. I frowned, but didn't bother grumbling about Harry not trusting me after all. Don't bite the hand that feeds you, the orphanage marm always used to say to us.

Harold shook his head and gave Harry a frown. 'No, sir. Tom doesn't like the name, neither. He used to yell about it, but now he only complains a little.'

Harry's lips twitched and he glanced at me. 'I'm glad to know you haven't completely rid yourself of me and what I've said.'

I scowled at the floor. 'I don't have a death wish, Harry.'

'Indeed. Pack your things – you'll be staying with me for a while.'

I actually looked at him, shocked. 'What about Ginny? Isn't she going to pitch a fit?"

Harry shook his head. 'Not when the Ministry's involved. Pack your stuff.'

'Fuck,' I muttered, then stepped into the bedroom to pack my own bag. When Harold gave me a questioning look, I just shook my head. 'You don't want to get any more involved than you already are, Harold. Leave it.'

'Yes, sir.'

> _And like a baby boy I never was alive,  
>  Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand.  
>  And now I found I'm yelling, 'Make it go away!  
>  Just make her smile come back and shine  
>  Just like it used to be.'  
>  And she whispered, 'How can you do this to me?'_

I felt ill, under Ginny's watchful glare. Her belly was just showing a chance of young – or too much food – I didn't care to ask which. I knew she didn't like me. But, then again, I didn't like her, either.

'Ginny,' Harry's disapproving voice cut through the dark silence that had fallen over us. She looked up at him, still scowling. 'You need to be polite to Tom while he's here.'

'I don't like him,' Ginny snapped back. 'I don't know why you couldn't have just left him for those aurors who were hunting him down.'

I started, then turned to Harry, wondering why aurors would be looking for a magic-less wizard like me. 'What's going on, Harry?' I asked, when he didn't answer my silent question.

Harry sighed, and I almost smiled at the sight of the young Harry that I had once fought against. 'Sit, Tom. Ginny, if you can't stand having him about, go spend some time with Ron and Hermione. I refuse to let the aurors have him.'

My pleasure at seeing the young Harry again died at his words and I felt ice in my heart. 'Harry, what's going on? Why are aurors looking for me?'

Harry turned to frown at me. 'Sit. Down,' he ordered, then turned to Ginny again as I did as I was told. 'He stays. No arguments.'

Ginny looked like she might explode. Instead, she spun on her heels and disappeared deeper into the magically resized flat.

'She doesn't have to leave,' I whispered. 'It's her house.'

Harry gave me a curious look, then shook his head. 'No, Tom. Mine is the only name on this deed. If she wants to pitch a fit, she can do it with someone who cares.' He settled in the seat across from me, expression darkening. 'There's been some disappearances of late in London and the aurors immediately think of you. They came here first, wondering if I'd heard anything from you. I had to lie, because I hadn't.'

I flinched. 'I'm sorry.'

Harry waved it off. 'That can wait. What I'm trying to say is that, until this case is solved, you need to stay here, under my watch. The deal I made with the Ministry to sign your release was that you would be under my supervision. I can't supervise you if you won't pick up your phone.'

I wished, dearly, that my seat would swallow me.

'Goodbye, Ginny,' Harry called as Ginny stalked towards the door.

'Goodbye, Harry. If this takes too long, you may be looking for a new wife,' she said, then slammed the door behind her.

I blinked. 'I don't want to break up your marriage, Harry,' I said, lying through my teeth. 'I'll go to the Ministry and wait there.'

Harry smiled the smile of a predator that had just caught it's prey. 'You're not going to the Ministry, Tom.' He stood and set up some wards, then set his wand down on the table and stalked up to me. 'You're going to tell me why you felt the need to ignore my calls. And, of course, why you happened to be keeping a pet that looked so much like me, that I almost thought you had a moving mirror in that room.'

I pressed back into the couch. 'I don't–'

'Don't lie to me, Tom Riddle,' Harry warned, voice sharp.

I glanced up at him and gulped. He was properly annoyed, now. I looked away. 'If I cannot lie, then I cannot say,' I said after a moment of thought. He can't _make_ me tell him anything, after all.

Harry was suddenly in my lap, legs on either side of me and head resting against mine. I was too scared to look up. He knew.

Of _course_ he knew, you dolt. You can hardly protect your mind when you have no magical barriers to hide behind!

'Tom, look at me,' he said.

I shook my head, too scared to speak. Not even sure I _could_ speak.

A finger tucked under my chin, then forced my eyes up to meet his. The death-green fires had returned. 'Tell me why you stopped talking to me.'

'I–' My voice faltered and I licked my lips. 'Harry, please...'

'No. You're going to tell me, or I'll sit here all day,' he replied, gaze sharp and knowing.

I wondered how to explain what I felt. 'I...' I faltered, then, in an act of Gryffindor foolishness, leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. When he kissed back, I pulled away, eyes wide. 'Hate me, please.'

'No,' Harry said, then leaned across the gap between us and caught my mouth again, this time using his hands to keep me from pulling away.

I wilted under his attack. I let him kiss me and rub against me and touch me. And my mind felt numb, even as a part of me kept telling me this was wrong. Kept telling me that I couldn't do this. I couldn't tear Harry and his wife apart. As much as I wanted him to be mine, I couldn't destroy his family.

So I tumbled him off of me – he's still smaller than me – and ran. Ran like Thanatos himself was after me. Ran to the Ministry, where I turned myself in for disappearances I had nothing to do with.

> _Hate me today. Hate me tomorrow.  
>  Hate me for all the things, I didn't do, for you.  
>  Hate me in ways... yeah, ways hard to swallow.  
>  Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you._

And when Harry stood at the gate to my cell the night before I was to receive the Kiss, I met his eyes with only a little difficulty.

Harry gave me a bitter smile. 'Why are you letting yourself pay for this crime which you and I both know you didn't commit?'

I shrugged, not having an answer.

It wasn't until after he'd left that I had an answer. An answer which made me bite my finger raw and bleeding, then draw on the wall of my cell:

> _For you..._

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if this is fragmented – the computer I'm working on keeps turning off in the middle of my work. There's something seriously wrong with it, but we're kinda in the middle of nowhere – literally – and tomorrow's Christmas, so there's no way we'll be able to get this thing looked at any time soon. And I wanted to write.
> 
> Sorry if Harry's OC, I blame the computer.
> 
> If I made any of you cry, I think I'll be both pleased, and sad. The song always makes me want to cry, personally. I both hope, and don't hope, that the fic will get that feeling across.
> 
> Much love and cookies and leftover holiday sweets,  
> ~Bats ^.^x


End file.
